


hostage to my feelings

by Philosoferre



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Laser Tag, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 18:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14338446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosoferre/pseuds/Philosoferre
Summary: The problem is, one day Enjolras is going to do something irrationally stupid. And Grantaire's going to do something even more stupid, and the little world they've built for themselves will collapse.But Enjolras is really, really bad at laser tag, and he needs an easy win. He never said it was a smart idea.(Or, the one where Enjolras doesn't always think things through.)





	hostage to my feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [ this tumblr post ](http://waakeme-up.tumblr.com/post/129073923549/halleydoedog-take-me-laser-tagging-and-then). Title comes from So It Goes by Taylor Swift. Enjoy!

It’s only seven in the morning and Enjolras already has two problems: one, he needs to get Grantaire out of his bed before Combeferre and Courfeyrac find out; and two, he needs a reasonable excuse to get out of laser tag. Neither seems to be going well. 

 

“Do you think they’d believe me if I say broke my arm?” Enjolras asks, biting his lip. He keeps expecting an answer, but Grantaire hasn’t showed any signs of consciousness yet. 

 

Just as Enjolras reaches over to grab his laptop, Grantaire’s hand settles on his wrist, alarmingly strong for someone who’s asleep. Except when Enjolras turns to look at him, he finds that Grantaire is, in fact, incredibly awake. 

 

“Christ, what’s the time?” Grantaire’s voice is still hoarse with sleep, and he keeps glancing around like he has no idea where he is. Enjolras has had enough experience with early-morning Grantaire to know that he already processed everything the minute he woke up.

 

(It’s a blessing, really. Saves Enjolras all the time it takes to explain what happened the night before, and that’s usually not something he likes recalling.)

 

Enjolras yanks his wrist out of Grantaire’s grasp and takes his laptop. “Seven.”

 

“In the morning?” Before Enjolras can even answer, Grantaire groans and buries his face in his - Enjolras’ - pillow. “Fuck. Too early.” He tugs at Enjolras’ wrist again. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

 

“No,” Enjolras says. He sighs, and then says a little quieter, “I have to find a good reason to get out of laser tag.”

 

“Who cares about that?” Grantaire mutters something under his breath and moves his arm, and Enjolras can see the fine outline of taut muscles in his back. He’s too tired for crap like that. “Come on, Enj. It’s fuck o’clock in the morning, go to sleep, you’ll get your shit done later.  _ Sleeeeep _ .”

 

Enjolras only has so much willpower, but he’s not going to give in to Grantaire now. “No, I have to find an excuse. You know I hate laser tag.”

 

“Everyone knows that,” Grantaire says. He’s starting to sound less tired, which is good. Enjolras can’t have him falling back asleep, what with the risk of being seen. 

 

“Then why does everyone keep insisting I come along?”

 

Grantaire takes Enjolras’ pillow from behind him and slams it on his head. His voice is muffled when he talks. “Because you’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

 

Enjolras freezes, unsure of what to do. The thing is, they’re not really allowed to say stuff like that. They’re not allowed to say or do things that might hint at something more, that might turn them into a, well,  _ them _ . Enjolras and Grantaire, two separate people as far as Les Amis are concerned, can’t become  _ Enjolras and Grantaire _ , two people referred to as one. They just can’t. Enjolras doesn’t even know what they are or where they stand, and he doesn’t really know how to go about clarifying something like that. 

 

(It’s not just sex, god, he’s not like that - they do things, domestic things, and they hang out and have dinner and it’s fun, but they don’t call it dating, they don’t call it anything because giving it a name means commitment and Enjolras is too afraid that they’ll crash and burn, and if they’re not dating then that can’t happen.)

 

So they never really talk about it. They watch a movie, go out for dinner, have sex and do things Enjolras is terribly ashamed of, but they refrain from calling it dating even if that’s what it is, because neither of them want to think about the possibility of breaking up. And as far as Enjolras is concerned, it’s proven to be a good arrangement. 

 

“You have to leave before Courf and Ferre see you,” Enjolras says finally. He tries to keep his voice cool and collected, but he somehow feels like he said the wrong thing at the wrong time. 

 

Grantaire grudgingly sits up and runs a hand through his messy hair. “Okay, I’ll go. But if you don’t hear anything from me for the next two hours it’s because I’ve fallen asleep in a ditch somewhere, since you woke me up at  _ fucking seven _ .”

 

“Noted,” Enjolras says. He lets himself smile, just this once, because teasing is something he can do. 

 

Grantaire slowly puts his clothes back on, mumbling something about how early it is, and clambers back on Enjolras’ bed. He hooks two fingers under Enjolras’ chin and forces him to meet his gaze. Enjolras doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look away. 

 

Grantaire leans in close and whispers, “I better see your ass at laser tag.”

 

Enjolras shivers and briefly closes his eyes. When he opens them, Grantaire’s looking at him the same way he did last night. “I think you mean my face.”

 

“I don’t like your face as much,” Grantaire says.

 

Feeling rather bold, Enjolras just smiles and leans in to kiss him - but he’s already off the bed and out the door. A few seconds later, Enjolras hears the front door close quietly. He sighs, rubs a hand over his face, and leans back. He pretends not to be disappointed. 

 

-

 

“So who were you talking to?” Combeferre asks. He stares at Enjolras over the edge of his mug as he drinks his coffee - black and bitter, like his soul. 

 

Enjolras’ heart starts beating faster. He just continues eating his cereal as if that question doesn’t mean anything. “When?”

 

Combeferre narrows his eyes. “Earlier.”

 

“That’s a little vague,” Enjolras says. He’s actually not too bad at playing calm and unfazed. 

 

“Wait, who was Enj talking to?” Courfeyrac asks, sliding a chair up to the table. 

 

Combeferre sighs. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says quietly. 

 

Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac turn to stare at him. Combeferre sets his mug down, and then Courfeyrac promptly steals it. Neither of them say anything.

 

“Grantaire called to ask if I was still going to laser tag,” Enjolras continues. He doesn’t really know why he’s explaining it, but he doesn’t want them get suspicious.

 

“I didn’t know you guys were friends,” Combeferre says. 

 

Enjolras shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage. “Well, we talk sometimes.”

 

_ We do so much more than talking, actually.  _

 

“I’m glad you two are getting along.” Courfeyrac smiles. And there it is.  _ Enjolras and Grantaire _ . “And what did you say?”

 

Enjolras bites his lip, frowning at his soggy cereal. He remembers when Grantaire was here, the way his hands felt and how disappointed he was when he left, and how much he doesn’t want to disappoint him now. “I said I’m going.”

 

-

 

When Enjolras arrives at the laser tag place, he wants to believe that Grantaire isn’t the reason he came, but then he’d be outright lying to himself. Twice a year, Les Amis do something fun and not-activism-related, and it’s almost always laser tag. They all seem to enjoy shooting each other with lasers, and so does Enjolras - he just isn’t very good at it. And the minute he loses something, he doesn’t like it anymore. 

 

He usually goes to these things because he likes his friends, but this time… he just doesn’t want to disappoint Grantaire. He’d feel incredibly guilty if he didn’t show up, and it might ruin whatever sort of relationship they have. Enjolras doesn’t want that. He really, really doesn't want that. 

 

“You look stressed,” Courfeyrac says. “You do know it’s just a game, right?”

 

Enjolras shrugs, startled out of his train of thought. “What? Yeah, I know. I’m not stressed.”

 

“Sure,” Courfeyrac drawls. He doesn’t bring it up again. 

 

-

 

Enjolras doesn’t get a chance to talk to Grantaire before they start the game, but he can tell by his smile that he’s happy. Of course he’s happy. He asked Enjolras to come in the first place.

 

_ I better see your ass at laser tag. _

 

Well, he didn’t really ask. But Enjolras doesn’t have any issues with orders, so it doesn’t matter. Grantaire told him to do something, and he did. Of course he’s happy. 

 

Courfeyrac, unfortunately, gets the privilege of choosing everyone’s names. Last time it was his turn, they all ended up as My Little Pony characters, and god knows what he’s going to do this time. 

 

“Okay, I’m going to be Fluffy,” Courfeyrac says. He points at Combeferre, grinning. “And you’ll be my sidekick, Sexy Nerd.”

 

Combeferre whines. “No, come on.”

 

Courfeyrac puts his hands up in defense. “Hey, I’m just spreading the truth. Right now, everything I say is gospel. Speaking of which-” Courfeyrac turns to Eponine. “From now on, you’re Satan.”

 

Eponine smiles, nodding. “Nice.”

 

Courfeyrac taps his fingers, counting something under his breath, and then points at Bahorel. “And you’re A Rock.”

 

“The Rock?” Bahorel asks, confused. 

 

“No.” Courfeyrac shakes his head. “ _ A _ Rock. Only Dwayne can be The Rock. You’re just A Rock.”

 

“Okay,” Bahorel says slowly. He still sounds really confused, but he isn’t about to argue with Courfeyrac. That never leads anywhere. 

 

“And you, Bossuet, are going to be Somebody That You Used To Know.”

 

Bossuet tilts his head. “Like the song?”

 

Courfeyrac grins. “Like the song. Joly, you’ll be 0.1% Of Bacteria.”

 

“Oh my god,” Joly says, eyes wide. “That’s terrifying. It’s the one thing disinfectants don’t kill.”

 

Courfeyrac’s smile widens. “I know. When Feuilly gets here, he’ll be Distracted Boyfriend. Chetta, you’re Mom.”

 

“I think that’s my role in everyday life,” Musichetta says. She’s smiling, even though she’s trying to be serious. 

 

Courfeyrac turns to Cosette. “You’re The Universe, and Marius is The Crap Emoji.”

 

“Hell yeah!” Cosette fist bumps Eponine, and then awkwardly pats Marius’ shoulder. “Sorry. I don’t think you’re a chunk of smiling crap.”

 

“And Jehan is Oprah,” Courfeyrac continues.

 

Jehan points at him. “A goddess.”

 

Courfeyrac pauses, tapping his finger on his chin. He turns to face Enjolras and grins. “You, mon cher, are going to be none other than Your Worst Sexual Memory.”

 

“Really?” Enjolras huffs. “ _ Really? _ ”

 

“Yup, deal with it.” Courfeyrac looks at Grantaire. “And you’re going to be A Single Lady.”

 

Grantaire smiles. “Nice. That was my dream job as a kid.”

 

Enjolras totally does not find that endearing, because he does not find Grantaire endearing, and he doesn’t have feelings, what are feelings anyway-

 

“Hey, Enj?” Combeferre taps his shoulder and gestures at the racks of laser equipment. “We’re starting soon. You might want to get ready.”

 

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. He’s not really paying attention. The only thing he can focus on is Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire. It’s always Grantaire. 

 

(Maybe, and Enjolras hates how long it took him to realize this, maybe their arrangement isn’t working out as well as he thought. Maybe he wants - needs - something more. Maybe he should stop pretending Grantaire isn’t the reason he came here.)

 

-

 

They’ve already been playing for fifteen minutes, and Enjolras has only shot two people. Himself, somehow, and Courfeyrac. And from what he can tell, Eponine’s in the lead (her tactic is to run around shooting people - they never know where she is), and it’s going to be really hard to beat her. Even Marius is doing better.  _ Marius. _

 

“What’s up, kiddo?”

 

Enjolras spins around to face Grantaire, and - oh, they’re so close. So very close. Enjolras could kiss him if he wanted to, and he would like to do that - except they might get caught by one of their friends, and that would ruin everything. So he doesn’t kiss him. Instead, he defensively raises his laser gun.

 

“Relax,” Grantaire says, smiling that gorgeously carefree smile of his, “I’m not going to shoot you.”

 

Enjolras lowers the gun. “Okay.”

 

And then he gets an idea. It might be a little stupid, and very far-fetched, but it’ll most definitely work. And Enjolras doesn’t need a smart idea - he needs an easy win. 

 

“You okay?” Grantaire asks, head tilted. “You look kind of-”

 

Enjolras just waves his hand dismissively, takes Grantaire’s hand in his own, and drags him over to the nearest available corner. It’s dark, save for the glowing squiggles on the wall, and it’s gloriously unattended. Enjolras can hear Les Amis’ frequent shrieking, and it sounds very, very distant. Which is, of course, a good thing. 

 

From where he’s crowded into the corner, Grantaire gives Enjolras a nervous smile. He looks confused. “What are you doing?”

 

“Be quiet,” Enjolras whispers, leaning in close. 

 

Grantaire lets out an amused breath, and then Enjolras kisses him. He rests one hand on Grantaire’s shoulder to hoist himself up, and steadily raises the laser gun at his side. There are five sensors he can aim for: two on Grantaire’s shoulders, which would be too obvious and rather risky; one on his abdomen, which Enjolras can’t exactly reach; one on his back, which is also currently unavailable; and one on his laser gun. That seems to be Enjolras’ safest choice. 

 

He feels Grantaire draw in a sharp breath, but he keeps kissing him just the same. His hands come to rest on Enjolras’ waist, firm and possessive, and Enjolras almost feels bad about his plan. Almost. He won’t be guilted that easily. 

 

Enjolras feels the laser gun pressing into his side, and takes a deep breath. He knows where the sensor is. Grantaire’s too distracted to notice. It’s a very good plan, if he must say so himself. 

 

And just as quickly as it had started, the kiss ends, and Enjolras pulls back far enough to see Grantaire’s half-visible confused face, but close enough to not stir suspicion. He’s mastered the art of taking advantage of Grantaire through kisses. It’s an admirable and highly desirable skill. 

 

“What was that for?” Grantaire asks, a little breathless. He has a point, though. He  _ did _ shoot Enjolras at least twice already, and a kiss isn’t exactly revenge. 

 

Enjolras just smiles and nods at his laser gun. Grantaire narrows his eyes and looks down, and then he sighs and shakes his head. But he’s still smiling. 

 

“You slimy bastard,” he says. He half-heartedly punches Enjolras’ shoulder. 

 

Enjolras shrugs. “It worked, didn’t it? Almost too easy.”

 

“Well,” Grantaire sniffs, “I’m not going to apologize for falling for that. It’s not my fault you’re attractive.”

 

“It’s not my fault, either,” Enjolras says. He leans forward and, when they’re almost kissing, whispers, “I’ve just learned how to take advantage of it.”

 

Grantaire chuckles, fists a hand in the collar of Enjolras’ shirt, and pulls him in for another messy, rough kiss. 

 

“You’re unbelievable,” Grantaire laughs. 

 

Enjolras winks. “I think you mean  _ unbelievably talented _ .”

 

Grantaire laughs again and hooks two fingers in Enjolras’ belt loops. His hand circles dangerously close to the button on his jeans. “Perhaps at other things, you are.”

 

Enjolras is about to ask what he means (even though he obviously knows) when he hears the distinct sound of approaching footsteps. Grantaire doesn’t seem too bothered by it. 

 

“R? Where the hell are you?”

 

It’s Eponine. Enjolras can see her wandering a few feet behind them, her laser gun pointed at the upper level. She hasn’t seen them yet. 

 

Grantaire sighs. “I’m being summoned, and since it’s ‘Ponine, I’m too scared to not go. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

 

Before Enjolras can respond, Grantaire presses a soft kiss on his lips, ruffles his hair, and heads towards Eponine. Enjolras smiles to himself and leans back against the wall. And it’s while he’s there, reliving that glorious moment of victory, and thinking about that kiss, that he realizes he wants to be able to do this every time they go to laser tag. And when they’re not here, too. He wants to be able to kiss Grantaire whenever, to unashamedly have Grantaire claim him as his own, to parade their relationship without worrying what their friends will think. 

 

Enjolras rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

 

-

 

“Where were you?” Eponine asks, one hand on her hip. She doesn’t look too happy.

 

Grantaire shrugs. “Somewhere. What does it matter?”

 

Eponine narrows her eyes. “What does it matter?  _ What does it _ \- listen, buddy, I wanted to team up today so I’d have back-up. And then you ditch me. Where the hell were you?”

 

“With Enjolras,” Grantaire says. He gestures at his laser gun, which won’t stop letting him know he’s been tagged by Your Worst Sexual Memory. 

 

Eponine frowns. “What? Why?”

 

“He wanted an easy win, I guess.” Grantaire shrugs again and sighs. “He just took me away and kissed me for points.  _ Points _ . Who does that? Evil, slimy sons-of-bitches, that’s who.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”   
  


Eponine holds her hand up, eyes wide. She lets the laser gun drop from her grip. “Wait, what?  _ What _ ? He  _ kissed _ you? Like, with lips? A kiss? A real kiss? Dude, this is big!”   
  


And then Grantaire remembers. Eponine doesn’t know about his… whatever-it’s-called with Enjolras. No one knows. It’s their little secret, their own little world, and he’s just messed up and destroyed it. Enjolras is going to hate him forever. Grantaire’s ruined whatever chance he had at a real relationship. Oh, shit. 

 

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, laughing nervously. “I know, right? I’m just… I’m shocked he’d even do that. It doesn’t seem like Enjolras, right? And why  _ me _ ? He doesn’t even like me. It’s wild.”

 

Eponine nods sagely. “Yeah, it is. So what did you do? What did he do?”

 

“I just… he just left after.”

 

That’s a lie. Grantaire knows Enjolras is still there, in that corner. He won’t leave until Eponine’s out of sight. And he also knows that Enjolras can probably hear everything they’re saying. He’s probably rehearsing his pseudo-break-up speech right now. 

 

“Wow,” Eponine huffs. “I can’t believe the nerve he has. I mean, doesn’t he have any respect? Doesn’t he care that you’re completely in love with him? Huh? What a douche.”

 

“Umm,” Grantaire says. “I don’t think he even knows that.”   
  


Eponine crosses her arms. “Well, he should.”

 

“I don’t think he needs-”

 

“What an asshole,” Eponine continues. She kicks the floor. “You have to tell him that was wrong, R. You have to. I can’t let you waste your life away pining over someone who just used you for points in a fucking game of laser tag. No. Go talk to him, tell him you’re head-over-heels in love-”

 

Grantaire winces. “I wouldn’t phrase it that way-”

 

“-and show him who’s fucking boss.” Eponine takes a deep breath. “I’m calm now. Let’s go shoot some bitches.”

 

Grantaire turns to look back at the corner as he follows Eponine. From what he can see, Enjolras isn’t there. He doesn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved, so he’ll just go with both. Relieved because confronting Enjolras about this whole being-in-love thing would be embarrassing and catastrophic, and disappointed because he kind of wants Enjolras to know. 

 

“Coming?” Eponine calls, from where she’s leaning against the stairs. 

 

Grantaire sighs. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

 

-

 

Enjolras and Grantaire don’t talk for the rest of the game. In fact, Enjolras doesn’t even see Grantaire - he’s probably off with Eponine, somewhere. Enjolras spends most of the game sitting in the little corner he claimed, aiming his laser gun at whomever walks below. He has a great view of the lower level, and there’s a mirror on the wall beside him. He’s practically invincible. 

 

Combeferre came to check up on him twenty minutes ago, and he’s only coming back now. With Courfeyrac. And Cosette. 

 

“You brought friends?” Enjolras asks, frowning. He kind of wanted this to be a solo thing, like it was supposed to be.

 

Cosette rests her gun on her shoulder and snorts. “More than that. From now on, we’re a team. And we’re going to bring everyone down.”

 

“But this isn’t a team thing,” Enjolras argues. Dammit, he’s going to try and stick to his one-man team as long as he can. 

 

“It is now,” Courfeyrac says. “Eponine charmed the supervisor and now we get five minutes to decide our teams. And you’re joining ours.”

 

“That’s not how laser tag works. You can’t just change the game with, like, ten minutes left.”

 

Combeferre shrugs. “Forty minutes, actually. Eponine also gave us more time. And besides, you’re not going to want to go solo when everyone else is literally teaming up. You might as well join us.”

 

Cosette’s grin looks dangerous in the dim light. “We’re going to kick some ass.”

 

“Okay, fine,” Enjolras says. He sighs. “But I’m staying here. It’s my stake-out corner.”

 

“That’s good,” Combeferre says. “You can notify us if anyone’s nearby.”

 

Cosette frowns. “How?”

 

“A secret call!” Courfeyrac suggests. He’s too excited for this whole team thing, and Enjolras is really starting to regret accepting their offer. 

 

“I’ve got it.” Cosette glances around to make sure no one’s spying on them and lowers her gun. “Say ‘Blackpink in your area’. We’ll recognize it easily.”

 

“Like…” Courfeyrac pauses, head tilted, “like the girl group?”

 

Cosette snaps her fingers at him. “You bet.”

 

Combeferre turns to Enjolras. “Is that good?”   
  


“I guess.” Enjolras shrugs. “As long as I get to stay here.”

 

“Okay, good!” Courfeyrac clasps his hands together and grins. “Team Fluffy?”

 

Enjolras snorts. “No, we’re not all five.” He stands up and joins them in a circle, placing his hand in the middle. “We’re Team fucking Liberte.” 

 

Cosette and Courfeyrac cheer loudly and raise their fists before darting off. Combeferre just sighs, fixes his glasses, and lifts his laser gun. 

 

“I’m going to go find Courf,” he says. “I don’t trust him on his own.” 

 

Enjolras nods in agreement and watches Combeferre run in Courfeyrac’s direction. Much to his liking, he’s completely alone again. From where he’s leaning against the railing, Enjolras can see everyone and everything that’s going on downstairs. Eponine and Grantaire are slowly advancing on Courfeyrac, who's out of Combeferre’s eyesight again. Cosette’s still upstairs, her laser gun pointed at the holes in the ground. Joly’s naively standing right underneath her. 

 

“So.”

 

Enjolras turns around, losing his grip on the railing, and faces Combeferre, who’s holding his gun in an irrationally mocking way, lips turned down in a frown. 

 

“So what?” Enjolras asks. He feels like he already knows what Combeferre’s going to say, and his heart sinks. 

 

Combeferre shifts his weight and leans against the nearest wall, one hand loosely stuffed in his pocket. “Eponine told me.”

 

And there it is. Enjolras knew it was a terrible idea, that someone was going to catch them, and everything would go to shit and he’d have to come to terms with his feelings. He just hoped it wouldn’t happen now.

 

“You really did that?” Combeferre asks. His voice sounds flat, hollow. Almost disbelieving. “You really kissed Grantaire, of all people,  _ Grantaire _ , for points? Really?”

 

Enjolras shrugs and nervously rubs the back of his neck. He never thought it’d go down like this. Actually, he wishes that Courfeyrac was here instead of Combeferre, because he’s much less condescending. Immature, sure. Enjolras can handle immature. He can’t handle serious. 

 

“Fuck,” Combeferre says. And then he kicks the floor. He sighs loudly and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Fuck.  _ Fucking hell, you twat! _ Why did you do that? What were you thinking? Did that ever seem like a good fucking idea to you?”

 

“No?” Enjolras tries. He doesn’t know what to do.

 

Combeferre takes a deep breath. “I’m going to try and be as nice as I can. First, you’re an asshole. Second, you’re a dick. Third, you’re an idiot-”

 

“Okay,” Enjolras says, holding his hand up, “I get it. I messed up. Please stop.”

 

“Yeah, you messed up. Big time.” Combeferre takes another deep breath and sits down. He motions for Enjolras to come join him, and he does, hesitantly. “I know you suck at laser tag, and I know you know that, but never use anyone else for points. Not like that, okay? I mean, you guys had a dynamic, you were getting along, and now you’ve ruined it. Did you know he’s in love with you? Like, totally?”

 

Enjolras opens his mouth. “Wha-”

 

Combeferre winces. “I wasn’t really supposed to say that, but you had to know. It’s important for you to understand why the hell this is a Bad Thing. A Very Bad Thing. Do you hear the capital letters? I’m trying to emphasise how important and Bad this is. It’s Bad.”

 

“I hear the capital letters,” Enjolras mumbles. 

 

“Just-” Combeferre shrugs. “I don’t know, I’ve never done something this thoughtless. And, god, Enj, do the man a fucking favour and go fucking apologize to him. If you don’t clear things up, it’ll end terribly for both of you. For all of us.”

 

“Okay,” Enjolras says, “I’ll apologize. Properly.”

 

Combeferre reaches his hand out, hesitates, and then awkwardly pats Enjolras’s shoulder. “Okay. I’m good now.”

 

Enjolras clears his throat and gets up. “Yeah, I should… probably get going, then.”

 

“Wait!”

 

Enjolras pauses and turns back to face Combeferre. He’s frowning, but not in a bad way. In an  _ I’m-worried-about-you _ way. “If you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here. I mean… anything, really. Feelings, Les Amis stuff, classes, feelings. You have me.”

 

Enjolras nods. He offers a small smile. “I know.”

 

-

 

Enjolras never goes to apologize to Grantaire. He intends to, honestly, but then Eponine sees him and he sees Eponine and he suddenly doesn’t have any willpower. Eponine would probably shoot him with a real laser before he got the chance to say anything, and so he just awkwardly waves and runs to a very far and very dark corner. 

 

He goes up to reclaim his corner after a few minutes and lies to Combeferre that, yes, he apologized, and no, they didn’t clear things up because there was nothing to clear up, and yes, things will probably be awkward for the rest of their lives. 

 

Combeferre, like the good friend he is, just offers a sympathetic smile, pats Enjolras’s shoulder, and goes off to help Courfeyrac and Cosette. 

 

And it’s not that Enjolras doesn’t like being alone. He does. He’d just rather be alone with Grantaire. 

 

-

 

“I can’t believe it,” Courfeyrac says, throwing his hands in the air like the drama queen he is. The door slams against Combeferre, who lets out a grunt, but doesn’t say anything. Courfeyrac turns to look at Enjolras with his arms crossed and grins. “You, I can’t…. I mean, that was like, what, your first kiss ever, right? I can’t believe I wasn’t there for it. And you kissed Grantaire, oh god! Oh, shit, this is so good.  _ So good _ . You-” he points at Enjolras as he heads to the kitchen. “-are a goddamn meme. An icon.”

 

Combeferre sighs. “Courf, stop. He’s had enough shit about this.”

 

Courfeyrac shrugs and pours himself a glass of orange juice. “I’m not giving him shit about this. I’m just reliving something I didn’t get to experience. Don’t you find this hilarious?”

 

“Not really,” Enjolras says. He frowns and sits down on the couch, arms crossed.

 

“It’s so funny.” Courfeyrac opens the fridge again, and there’s silence for a moment. Finally, he takes something out and starts talking again. “I mean, obviously not for you. Or R. Did Ferre tell you he loves you? Like, he’s in love with you. Probably since the day you guys met. But, I mean, it’s just… not you. You know?”

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Not really.”

 

“Courf-” Combeferre tries.

 

Courfeyrac cuts him off again. “I’m just saying. You messed up, and now I get to laugh about it.”

 

Enjolras shrugs. He doesn’t care if Courfeyrac finds it funny, because he does, too. It is a little funny, when he thinks about it. This whole thing is just a misunderstanding - if he and Grantaire had, well, told Les Amis they’re dating, this wouldn’t be a big issue. In fact, it wouldn’t be an issue at all. So he’ll just laugh along, because it is funny. Sort of. 

 

“You’re joking, right?” He asks, biting his lip. 

 

Combeferre stares at him. “About what?”

 

“About…” Enjolras shifts, crosses one leg over the other. “About Grantaire loving me.  _ Being _ in love with me.”

 

Combeferre slowly shakes his head. “We’re not joking about that. Why would we?”

 

“Why wouldn’t you?” Enjolras snorts. “It’s obviously a prank. You’re just trying to guilt me into apologizing, but guess what, I’ve already done that. You don’t need to make this up, okay? I get it, I messed up. I get it.”

 

“Obviously you don’t,” Combeferre says.

 

“Why? Why don’t I get it?”

 

Courfeyrac lets out a long sigh. “Listen, sweetie, you get it. On a shallow, superficial, typical-Enjolras level, you get it. But you just don’t understand how much this fucked R up. You won’t understand that until you’re in love. See?”

 

“What he’s trying to say-” Combeferre pauses to glare at Courfeyrac, who just sips his orange juice and shrugs. “-is that maybe you need to let Grantaire deal with this in his own time.”

 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say at all,” Courfeyrac huffs. 

 

Enjolras rubs a hand over his face and sighs. Maybe he should tell them about his whole thing with Grantaire, right now, and save himself the trouble if they were to find out some other way. Maybe he should actually apologize to Grantaire, just to keep up pretenses. 

 

“Enj?” Combeferre frowns in that adorably concerned way of his and reaches out to pat Enjolras’s arm. “If you don’t want to talk about this, that’s okay, we’re not expecting-”

 

“No, it’s totally not okay!” Courfeyrac interrupts. “You’ve destroyed my OTP, my  _ whole life _ is just… gone. Out the window. I can’t even.”

 

Enjolras doesn’t bother paying attention to Courfeyrac, who keeps rambling about the “catastrophe,” and how much work it’ll take to fix his OTP. Enjolras doesn’t even know what an OTP is, and he’s not sure he wants to find out. 

 

“People make mistakes sometimes,” Combeferre says, offering a sympathetic smile. “This is just one of those mistakes.”

 

Enjolras almost tells Combeferre about his whole pseudo-relationship, but somehow that feels like a worse mistake to make. Like the kind Grantaire wouldn’t ever forgive. 

 

-

 

Enjolras accidentally runs into Grantaire while he’s at the Musain, attempting to escape the insufferable horror that is Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s date (why they couldn’t just go out, he’ll never know). And it is an accident, he swears. Sure, he heard Eponine say something about going out tonight. Sure, he’s practically memorized Grantaire’s schedule, and sure he knows when Grantaire’s going to be at the Musain-

 

But it’s just a coincidence. Enjolras is  _ not  _ stalking him. He’s simply being opportunistic. 

 

Grantaire and Eponine are sitting at the bar, talking to Musichetta and Bahorel about something that happened earlier today. Enjolras, who’s really trying his hardest not to be seen, is sitting as far away as he can get - a little booth by a window at the back, completely obscured by other people. He’s safe here. 

 

That’s what he thought, anyway. Fifteen minutes after he came in (quietly and barely recognizable), Grantaire noticed him from the bar, and gave a little wave. 

 

He hasn’t come over yet. 

 

Enjolras is starting to regret sitting here, because there’s a woman who keeps coughing behind him, and a group of students gossiping about some douchebag named Dominic in front of him. Honestly, Enjolras would much rather have to endure a fake-awkward conversation with Eponine and Grantaire. But because he doesn’t actually want to face that, he stays between Cough Girl and Gossipy Talk Show until he’s lost track of who’s-who in the whole Dominic situation. 

 

Enjolras is just about to leave when he notices Grantaire standing by his booth, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels, eyes following the cracks in the floor.

 

He glances up. “Mind if I join you?”

 

Enjolras lets his coat fall from his grasp, but then he picks it up again and motions for Grantaire to move aside. “I was just leaving.”

 

“Oh.” Grantaire rocks back again and his shoes hit the floor with a quiet slap. He’s fiddling with something in his pocket. Car keys, maybe. Enjolras doesn’t remember him having a car. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Enjolras says. He offers a polite smile, the kind he reserves for people he’s not very close with (and Grantaire definitely doesn’t count), and gets up, shrugging his coat on. 

 

“Can I still join you?” 

 

Enjolras pauses, letting go of the zipper for a brief second. His eyes flick over to the bar, but he can’t see Eponine. Grantaire hasn’t moved. 

 

“I’m not going to be do anything fun,” Enjolras says. 

 

Grantaire shrugs. “Well, I think-” He stops and shakes his head. Enjolras knows what he was going to say, anyway ( _ I think just being with you is fun _ ). He says it all the time, like it’s totally casual and not-at-all-meaningful. Sometimes it seems like Enjolras is the only one who keeps to their rules. “Fun is a matter of perspective,” he says instead. 

 

Enjolras snorts. “I really wasn’t planning on doing anything.”

 

“Then we can walk.” Grantaire sounds like he’s asking a question, and Enjolras knows it’s just his way of asking for permission. If they can go on some dumb walk together. If it’s okay for them to hang out like they’re really dating, and not just two guys passing sex off as a relationship. That’s what it feels like, sometimes. “It’s not that cold out. I know some good places.”

 

“I know,” Enjolras says. 

 

There’s a familiar hopefulness in Grantaire’s eyes when he smiles. “So?”

 

-

 

Enjolras always thought of Grantaire as the nightlife type, but as it turns out, he prefers to wander through emptier streets. They’re currently walking through an almost deserted Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, hidden by towering trees and dim streetlights. It would be romantic if they were, well,  _ more _ . But for the meantime, Enjolras is content with just holding Grantaire’s hand.

 

“Do you come here often?” Enjolras asks. 

 

He feels Grantaire squeeze his hand as he leans over, and then he gives Enjolras a freshly picked rose. The thorns, as Enjolras notices, have been stripped off. 

 

“Sometimes,” Grantaire says. 

 

They keep walking down the same cobblestone path, and then Grantaire turns them towards the lake. Enjolras has only been here once before, on an Easter egg hunt with Courfeyrac two years ago. He’s never been much of a park person, but it’s easier to appreciate with Grantaire. 

 

They walk to the grotto in amicable silence. Enjolras can’t stop thinking about the rose; he’s never really understood the “language of flowers,” but he knows there’s something he’s missing. Something he’s not seeing. And then he remembers what Courfeyrac told him:  _ he’s in love with you _ . It must be a joke. Enjolras frowns and holds the rose up the next time they pass under a streetlight. When he sees that it’s actually a very pale pink, he lets out a sigh of relief. Red roses symbolise love, and the one Grantaire gave him definitely isn’t red. 

 

(Enjolras can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. He’s not sure what he wants Grantaire to feel about him.)

 

The grottos are dark, and all Enjolras can hear is Grantaire’s rhythmic breathing and the waterfall. 

 

“What do you think?” Grantaire asks. 

 

Enjolras feels Grantaire’s hand burn through his shirt. Oh, he’s so glad there’s no one else here. 

 

“I can’t really see anything,” he says.

 

Grantaire’s lips are so close to his cheek when he talks, and his voice is low and seductive. “You don’t need to.” 

 

Enjolras closes his eyes and tilts his head just enough for their lips to slot together. Grantaire pushes him back until he’s pressed against the grotto’s jagged rock wall, his hands cold from the mist and his mouth burning with the addictive taste of strawberries and cigarettes. 

 

It’s warm and dark and intimate, like their own private world - and as much as Enjolras would normally care about being caught, the only thing he can think of is how soft and secure and comfortable Grantaire feels. Enjolras fists his hands in the curls at the nape of Grantaire’s neck and deepens the kiss. He’s almost desperate for this, for any sort of touch. He needs it, as much as he hates to admit, like he needs oxygen.

 

But then Grantaire lifts Enjolras’s shirt, and when the cold rock grazes his skin, he realizes that they’re still in public. Sort of. The grotto’s public enough that anyone could walk in, but dark enough that they probably wouldn’t get caught. 

 

“The park’s going to close soon,” Enjolras whispers. He feels Grantaire smile against his lips.

 

“Then let’s stay here all night,” Grantaire says. 

 

Enjolras lets out a quiet breath. All he can smell and all he can taste, on his lips and in the air, is Grantaire - the cigarette smoke and wine and paint and something so unexplainably  _ right _ . 

 

“And in the morning,” Enjolras asks, “what will I tell Courf and Ferre? About where I’ve been?”

 

Grantaire cups his face in one hand and reverently brushes a thumb over his jawline. Enjolras feels shivers run down his spine, and it’s electrifying. The problem is, Enjolras knows there’s a spark, but he’s afraid of letting it become a fire. 

 

“Tell them you were with me,” Grantaire says. His eyes, barely visible in the dark, seem to glow for a brief second.

 

Enjolras closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I can’t.”

 

Grantaire leans even closer, and when he speaks, Enjolras feels the echo of his words engraved on his skin. “Why not?”

 

_ Because I don’t want to lose you. _

 

Enjolras feels a little sadder, like his heart grew a little heavier. Maybe he’s going to lose Grantaire anyway. Maybe all this secrecy will drive them apart. Maybe, in the end, they aren’t meant to be. But Enjolras can’t let it all go, can’t risk giving Grantaire a title that can be lost just as easily. Besides, what if Grantaire doesn’t want them to date? What if all he wants is this weird, friends-with-benefits situation?

 

“I’m not in the mood to answer questions,” he says instead. 

 

Grantaire looks at him as if he knows what Enjolras was thinking, but then he just smiles and kisses him again, light and gentle and full of promises. Promises of what, Enjolras doesn’t know.  

 

“Park’s closing in ten minutes,” Grantaire says. “You think we’ll make it out?”

 

“Let’s find out,” Enjolras whispers. 

 

He leans forward, eyes cast downward as if he was going to kiss Grantaire, and then deftly slips under his arm. Grantaire laughs quietly, shaking his head, and then takes Enjolras’s wrist in his hand and guides him out. 

 

“You could’ve just walked away,” Grantaire says. 

 

It’s so much colder and brighter outside, but Enjolras doesn’t really mind. He lets Grantaire’s fingers slip between his own as they walk. 

 

Enjolras squeezes his hand and reaches up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Not as fun.”

 

“I figured,” Grantaire says.

 

They’re both quiet for the rest of the walk. Enjolras keeps squeezing Grantaire’s hand every once in a while, just to check that he’s still there, but he never says anything. Sometimes, he catches Grantaire watching him, smiling softly, and he wonders if what Courfeyrac and Combeferre said was true. If he is, maybe, in some way, in love with him. But Grantaire… well, he just has a tendency to get sentimental. There’s no way he’s in love with Enjolras. 

 

And for some reason, Enjolras hopes that the rose, tucked in his pocket, means more than it actually does. That maybe he got it wrong, and it’s really pink roses that symbolise love. 

 

(He knows, to some degree, that it’s just a hopeful fantasy. That Grantaire was probably just trying to be charming. That he had no ulterior motives. That the rose, as much as Enjolras wants it to be more, is just a rose.)

 

-

 

They take the métro back to Enjolras’s apartment, and Grantaire quietly tells Enjolras a story about the time he and Eponine almost got stuck in the Saint-Sulpice station. He isn’t paying much attention, but he likes hearing Grantaire’s voice. It’s melodic and calming and only a little rough, and it always reminds Enjolras of moonlight. If the moon could talk, it would definitely sound like Grantaire. 

 

“You asleep?” Grantaire asks. He nudges Enjolras with his shoulder.

 

Enjolras rubs a hand over his face. He’s tired, but he doesn’t want to leave Grantaire. “No.”

 

Grantaire doesn’t say anything for a while. He shifts so that he’s turned towards Enjolras and wraps an arm around his shoulder. It’s warm, comfortable, familiar. 

 

“We should do that again,” he says.

 

Enjolras huffs. “What, make out in a cave?”

 

“Well-” Grantaire pauses and frowns. “Not what I meant, but I’m not opposed to that. I like making out with you in a cave.”

 

“Weird much,” Enjolras says.

 

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “I meant, like, walk. Go to a park. Hang out, like normal friends do.”

 

“We’re not exactly-” Enjolras’s heart sinks and he looks at the ground.  _ Friends. _ Of course. “Well, now everyone thinks we’re awkward with each other, so we can’t just hang out all the time.”

 

Grantaire nods. “ _ Riiight _ . I forgot.”

 

Neither of them say anything. Enjolras sighs and rests his head against the window. It’s their stop soon. They don’t have all the time in the world to sit and wait for the other person to say something.

 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says. “For, uh-”

 

“That’s okay.” Grantaire smiles at him. “I mean, it was a dick move, but it worked, so. Kudos on that.”

 

Enjolras sighs again. “Yeah, but now we have to act like our friendship is ruined, or whatever.”

 

“ _ Or _ ,” Grantaire says, “we could not do that.”

 

Enjolras wishes he could just tell Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and the rest of Les Amis, but it’s not that simple. If they tell their friends, everyone will expect a relationship. And maybe that’s not what they’re meant to have. Maybe the only thing that would work between them is casual sex, no strings attached. 

 

(There are strings attached, though. Enjolras knows that. He’s pretty sure Grantaire knows that too. But their strings have been tied up in a knot neither of them can undo.)

 

“We can’t just tell everyone,” Enjolras says. 

 

Grantaire shrugs. He looks like he wants to ask why, like he’s itching for an answer, but he just leans back and says, “Okay.”

 

It’s the casualness with which Grantaire treats their relationship that makes Enjolras sad. It’s the way he brushes off every inconvenience or every problem, the way he says  _ okay _ instead of prying. And Enjolras needs that prying sometimes. He needs to know Grantaire’s still a little invested in him. He needs to know he means  _ something _ to him. 

 

When they get off at Cardinal Lemoine, Grantaire takes Enjolras’s hand again, and they walk in comfortable silence to his building. 

 

“Will Courf and Ferre be there, or…?” Grantaire asks. He sounds a little hopeful, but Enjolras tries not to read into it too much.

 

Enjolras shrugs.  “I don’t know, probably.”

 

“Probably,” Grantaire says. He’s obviously disappointed, but it’s just because he wanted to have sex tonight. That’s it.

 

(Or, maybe not. But Enjolras isn’t going to come at this assuming things that aren’t true.)

 

Enjolras turns to leave, but then he feels Grantaire’s hand on his wrist, and he stops. His heart beats a little faster. He tries to ignore that. 

 

“Eponine’s not going to be home tonight,” Grantaire says, barely audible. And if Enjolras wants to pretend it’s an invitation, he’s allowed that. 

 

Enjolras’s hands are shaking, and he feels like he needs Grantaire’s lips on his to breathe, but he can’t give in. He needs to take a break, to sort out his maybe-feelings for Grantaire, before he can go on. Grantaire’s hands burn on his skin, and he tries not to think about that. He can’t think about that.

 

“I’ll see you later,” he says, under his breath. His voice breaks a little. He hopes Grantaire didn’t notice.

 

(Grantaire always notices.)

 

Enjolras feels like crying when Grantaire finally lets go of his wrist, feels like his heart’s been shattered and he can’t put it back together on his own. He feels like all the air’s been taken out of his lungs. 

 

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. 

 

And as Enjolras heads to his apartment, head down and hands stuffed in his pockets, he really feels like has to re-learn how to breathe. 

 

(He doesn’t want that, though. He doesn’t want to learn to breathe without Grantaire, because all he wants in his lungs is Grantaire. He wants to drink Grantaire in, feel him against his skin and his lips, breathe him in. 

 

He doesn’t remember what it feels like to breathe without him. He doesn’t want to remember.)

 

-

 

Enjolras spends two hours lying in bed, trying to convince himself he doesn’t need Grantaire to breathe, doesn’t need to give in. He spends another hour trying to convince himself it’s a bad idea to take Grantaire’s offer, but he still ends up standing outside his door at one in the morning.

 

And when Grantaire lets him in without asking what he’s here for, kisses him like he’s passing on all the secrets of the universe, Enjolras can finally breathe.

 

-

 

“Who gave you that?” Courfeyrac asks.

 

Enjolras snaps his head up to look at him, where he’s leaning against the open door. 

 

“Gave me what?”

 

Courfeyrac gapes. “The rose, dumbass. The pink rose. On your desk.”

 

Enjolras looks at the rose, neatly placed in a little glass vase, then back at Courfeyrac, who looks like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. And, really, what’s all the fuss about?

 

“Why?” Enjolras asks. Maybe… maybe pink roses mean something. Maybe Grantaire was trying to tell him something. 

 

“You don’t know?” Courfeyrac shakes his head and grins. “Wow.”

 

Enjolras crosses his arms. “Know what?”

 

“What they mean,” Courfeyrac says. He sighs. “You do know what red roses symbolise, right? At least tell me you know that.”

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “I don’t live under a rock. And they mean love. Everyone knows that.”

 

“Mad, passionate love,” Courfeyrac corrects. “Like love at first sight, or Romeo and Juliet.”

 

Something clicks. Maybe the rose means what Enjolras wants it to mean. “And what… what do the pink ones mean?”

 

“True love.” Courfeyrac puts his hands over his heart. “Love in its purest form. I’ve been waiting years for Ferre to give me one, and he hasn’t yet. How did you get so lucky?”

 

“I bought it,” Enjolras lies.

 

Well. He wasn’t expecting that. There’s still a chance that Grantaire didn’t know what colour the rose was when he picked it, or what it means. There’s still a chance it was an accident.

 

“Imagine getting one of those from someone,” Courfeyrac says. “Swoon.”

 

Enjolras sighs and buries his head in his arms. Even if Grantaire doesn’t love him, even if the rose doesn’t actually mean anything, Enjolras should probably admit that he’s maybe, possibly in love with Grantaire. 

 

Shit.

 

-

 

“Theoretically,” Enjolras says, while he’s out with Courfeyrac and Combeferre for lunch, “how would I know if I was in love with someone, but we were sleeping together?”

 

Courfeyrac drops his fork. “That’s oddly specific.”

 

“It’s for an essay,” Enjolras lies. “About how relationship dynamics affect your societal status and your feelings towards the person you’re, uh, in a relationship with.”

 

Combeferre narrows his eyes, frowns, but doesn’t call him out. It’s very possible that he knows everything, and he’s just a nice enough friend to keep quiet. 

 

“Okay,” Courfeyrac says. “So, tell me more about this theoretical relationship.”

 

Enjolras clears his throat, glances at Combeferre, and says, “Well, we’re friends. Theoretically. And we’re sleeping together, casually, except theoretically, I’m in love with the other person. Or, I think I am. So how do I know?”

 

“Do your friends know?” Combeferre asks.

 

Enjolras tries not to look panicked. “Uh, no. Theoretically. Why?”

 

“Just wondering,” Combeferre says, eyes narrowed again. He’s probably worked it out already.

 

“Well,” Courfeyrac says, tapping his fingers on the table, “that’s a hard question. I mean, you’ve put yourself in a… situation, of sorts.”

 

“Good or bad?” Enjolras asks. “Good or bad situation?”

 

Courfeyrac wrinkles his nose. “Terrible. I mean, if you don’t love the other person, it’s going to end badly, because they might love you. And if you do love the other person, it’s going to end badly, because they might not love you. So either way, you’re not in a good place.”

 

“Oh,” Enjolras says. His heart skips a beat. “And what would I do? If, theoretically, I love this person.”

 

Combeferre gives him a sad smile, and Enjolras knows he knows. “You should cut it off. For your own good.”

 

Enjolras has never done anything for his own good, and he isn’t about to start doing that now.

 

-

 

The one problem with Enjolras’s plan is that, apparently, stopping the arrangement wasn’t his decision to make. He hasn’t spent time with Grantaire in a month, hasn’t gone out on moonlit walks or been kissed in secret caves in a month, and it’s really starting to get to him. Every time he’s brave enough to approach Grantaire, every time he opens his mouth to ask  _ what happened between us? _ , Grantaire finds some reason to avoid him. 

 

And it keeps happening, day after day after day after day. Enjolras knows the whole point of the arrangement was so that they’d never actually break up, they’d never have to face the end of a relationship that never existed, but he still feels heartbroken. 

 

He misses Grantaire’s dumb jokes, and the way he’d run his thumb over Enjolras’s wrist or his face as if Enjolras was his god, and the way his lips felt like home, and how Enjolras found himself in every kiss. Above all, he misses feeling loved. He misses Grantaire’s fingers tracing words of worship on his skin, misses the way Grantaire whispers  _ I adore you _ against his lips, misses that feeling he gets whenever Grantaire’s hands are on him, like every touch is sacred. 

 

He misses Grantaire. 

 

-

 

“Are you and R talking again?” Courfeyrac asks, pouting. “Meetings are so boring without your arguments.”

 

Enjolras shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

 

“I can’t believe you thought that was a good idea,” Courfeyrac says. He sighs, spread out on the couch like a starfish. Enjolras is very glad they have an armchair. “You fucked up a perfectly good friendship, that’s what. Look at it, it’s got  _ problems. _ ”

 

“Don’t turn this into a meme,” Combeferre calls from the kitchen, where he’s reluctantly washing dishes.

 

Courfeyrac grins. “Too late, I already did. Whoops.”

 

“Whatever,” Enjolras says, crossing his arms. “I apologized to Grantaire, so. Now it’s his turn.”

 

“What the fuck?” Courfeyrac sits up. “You can’t be serious. Grantaire has literally nothing to apologize for. You’re the one who kissed him, remember? Not the other way around.”

 

Actually, it’s almost always the other way around. Enjolras rarely initiates kisses. Or, well, initiated. They’re not kissing anymore. 

 

“Leave him alone, Courf,” Combeferre says. “I’m sure he’ll come around, Enjolras. Just give him a little more time.”

 

Enjolras looks down, frowns, and whispers, “I’d give him all the time in the world.”

 

-

 

It’s a nice, sunny Friday afternoon, and Enjolras has no classes. He’s taking it as an opportunity to read outside, because Combeferre insists he needs more vitamin D, and he’s trying really hard to ignore the fact that Grantaire’s sitting on the same bench. Very close to him. And he smells like paint and cigarettes, like he always does.

 

And Enjolras really feels like he can’t breathe.

 

He tries to read, but Grantaire keeps making those clicks with his mouth, and it’s very annoying, and some part of Enjolras thinks he’s doing it for the attention. Which, unlikely, but he’s still allowed to be hopeful.

 

“Can we talk?” Enjolras asks, angrily shoving his bookmark in his book and putting it beside him. “We need to talk.”

 

Grantaire shrugs. He’s watching all the people walking past them, looking at anything but Enjolras. “Sure, if you want to.”

 

And of course Grantaire doesn’t want to. He probably doesn’t even think there’s something they need to talk about. 

 

“Look,” Enjolras says, taking a deep breath. He doesn’t want to get mad, not now. “I think you owe me an explanation.”

 

This time, Grantaire turns to look at him, and he doesn’t seem very happy. “For what?”

 

“Why you cut this off,” Enjolras says. “Why you cut  _ us _ off.”

 

“Cutting this-” Grantaire pauses. “Enjolras, there is no us. There never was.”

 

Enjolras curls his hands into fists. “Yeah, there was. There is.”

 

“The whole point of this was that there wouldn’t  _ be _ an us,” Grantaire snaps. He frowns, but he isn’t mad at Enjolras. He’s mad at himself. When he looks back up, he looks a little hurt. “I’m sorry if it wasn’t very clear to you. There can’t be an us, not like that.”

 

Enjolras folds his legs underneath him and turns so that he’s facing Grantaire. He reaches for his hands, but Grantaire pulls back. 

 

“Why not?” Enjolras asks. He wonders if Courfeyrac and Combeferre were right. If Grantaire loves him, if the rose meant what Courfeyrac said it did, if this whole thing wasn’t as casual as they intended it to be. If he loves Grantaire.

 

“Because,” Grantaire says, finally. He laughs, shakes his head. “I never meant to tell you like this - I never meant to tell you at all, but god, Enjolras, I love you. I can’t keep doing this because it’s never going to be casual for me, it never was. And it’s okay, really, you don’t have to say you love me too, or whatever. Don’t feel like you have to say that. I don’t want to hear you say it like that.”

 

“Then how?” Enjolras asks. His heart’s racing. If anything, he feels more relieved that Grantaire loves him. Like it’s okay for him to love him back.

 

Grantaire leans in close and whispers against Enjolras’s lips, “When you mean it.”

 

Enjolras wants to say  _ I love you _ , but Grantaire leaves before he can. And he’s left all alone, eyes closed and lips parted, wondering why he was dumb enough to pass up every opportunity he had to say that. 

 

There’s a voice in his head that sounds very much like Combeferre, telling him over and over again,  _ go after him. Make things right. _

 

So he does.

 

-

 

“Okay,” Enjolras says, once Combeferre picks up, “if I was looking for Grantaire, where should I go?”

 

Combeferre doesn’t say anything for a moment. “The fuck are you doing?”

 

“Looking for Grantaire,” Enjolras repeats. 

 

“Why?” Combeferre asks, evidently suspicious.

 

Enjolras sighs. “I, uh, well, he said he loves me, and then he left, and I have to tell him I love him too and make it all right and-”

 

“Right,” Combeferre says, “because your casual sex thing didn’t pan out.”

 

“You know about that?” Enjolras asks.

 

Combeferre snorts. “You’re a terrible liar. I think even Courf knows.”

 

“Great.” Enjolras sighs. “So where would I go?”

 

“The Musain?” Combeferre sounds tired. 

 

Enjolras nods to himself. “Okay. And if he’s not there?”

 

“Try his apartment,” Combeferre suggests. He pauses. “Don’t mess it up even more, Enj. You two could be great if you both realized it.”

 

“Thanks,” Enjolras says. He hangs up, and then runs to the Musain.

 

Grantaire must not be trying very hard to hide, because Enjolras sees him the minute he walks in. He’s at a table with Bahorel and Eponine, who all pointedly ignore Enjolras. Grantaire must’ve told them. Or they’re mad at him for some other reason. Or both.

 

“Can we talk?” Enjolras asks, trying to mask how out-of-breath he is. It’s not working very well.

 

Grantaire glances at Eponine, who nods, and then he sighs and walks over to Enjolras, arms crossed. “Look, I said you don’t-”

 

“I want to,” Enjolras says softly. “I really want to.”

 

Grantaire nods. “Okay.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says. He takes Grantaire’s hand, and smiles when he doesn’t pull back. “I’m sorry for that stupid thing I did, I’m sorry for ruining everything, and-” He leans in closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

 

Grantaire just keeps staring at him. 

 

“Ask me,” Enjolras whispers. 

 

Grantaire closes his eyes. “What didn’t you tell me?”

 

Enjolras smiles to himself, presses his lips against Grantaire’s jaw, and says, “I love you.”

 

“Say it again,” Grantaire whispers.

 

Enjolras does. 

 

“We’re not very good at casual,” Grantaire laughs, and, oh, Enjolras loves that sound. He never wants to stop hearing it.

 

“No,” Enjolras says, his smile growing wider. He’ll ask about the rose later, explain everything to their friends later.  “But maybe that’s not what we’re meant to be.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone tells me the flower meanings are wrong, please note that I got them from a website on flower meanings in France, so. I'm going by what it says there. Also, I'm very serious about the names Courf gave Les Amis for laser tag (fight me if you want).
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I'm here on [ tumblr ](http://epo-nine.tumblr.com), come say hi!


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